


Tougher than Toughies

by hearmyvoice



Series: Me Kin: Team Uncle Week [3]
Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics)
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Comfort/Angst, Fear of loss, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Team Uncle Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-19 12:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20210071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearmyvoice/pseuds/hearmyvoice
Summary: Scrooge McDuck is known as the most rude person in Duckburg, if not worldwide. He has never been seen to be afraid because he was not afraid of anything. Anything, except to see his wee nephew in danger.





	Tougher than Toughies

**Author's Note:**

> **day 3.** adventure.

Scrooge was running through the streets of Duckburg in his limousine, sweat running down to his whiskers despite the strong wind that hit his face thanks to the speed with which he drove the vehicle. He could feel his heart buzzing in his eardrums and his hands shaking as he held the steering wheel tightly, the note written with letters from local newspapers and magazines repeating itself over and over again in his memory though he had barely looked at it.

He usually used to downplay those things. A simple encounter, some maneuvers here and there, he won, he called the police or he simply received another attempt of threat, he recovered his money or the possession that was stolen or lost during an adventure and returned to the manor or the money bin according to the circumstances.

The word _ransom_ had fallen like a bucket of cold water on a hot summer afternoon, though.

To celebrate their anniversary, Quackmore and Hortense had gone out to dinner. Della had gone to the farm with Elvira, happy to make a sleepover with Gladstone and her baby cousin Fethry—which was basically trying to stay up all night watching movies until their sleep schedule starting at 9:00 PM, 7:00 for the younger cousin, defeated them—but the enmity between Donald andGladstone, especially from the older duck, had made both parents insist on leaving him with his uncle.

Scrooge didn't mind. That is, he has taken care of both Donald and Della more than he could assure, he was already accustomed to the presence of one or two children. A movie or two, have dinner, watch that they brush their teeth properly, bathe them and let them play—under the condition of being silent—in the studio while he was in charge of work until the time of the stories arrived, a good night kiss and keep working until the dream finally comes over him.

It had been that way. Donald was so used to the routine implemented by his uncle that he did not need to emphasize at the time what he had to do. The boy was so committed to satisfying his caregiver that he even saw the way in which he spent less time showering so as not to spend a lot of water, aware of how much money he cared about.

In addition, Scrooge assured, the boy wanted to use less time on trifles to spend more time with him until he starts to yawn when the clock strikes 9:00. He loved him, maybe admired him, and he couldn't blame him for it. For him it was even a compliment to be the inspiration of future generations.

Intelligence, bravery, insight, fortune. Modesty aside, it was what defined him, and what he hoped would define his nephew and niece. They were McDucks after all, the adventure was in their blood.

So why was he so sure how much Hortense would kill him?

How on earth had he received a ransom note where his nephew was the hostage? Curse his kilts! He had checked three times that he was asleep and safe in his bedroom, and discovering that Donald's bed was empty and his room was a disaster made him fear the worst.

How they had managed to avoid the cameras, their keen senses and meet Duckworth was not sure, and he really didn't care, he just wanted to know that the child whose well-being should watch was _safe and sound_.

He could feel his dime hitting his chest, the cold and now sweaty texture of the coin against his warm body in the wake of blood flowing rapidly through his veins.

Fortunately, the streets of the city were quieter at that time of night, otherwise he would have multiple chances of car accidents and fines for exceeding the speed limit stepping his tail feathers. But Scrooge knew it was justifiable if the life of a lovely and innocent duckling was in danger.

In fact, deep down he wondered why he had taken a vehicle as striking as the limo when he could have been more discreet and asked for a cab. Though it will cost him to pay to a low-cost transportation's driver that would probably ignore his orders to drive faster in order to respect traffic laws, the Beagle family would not have suspected it.

But hey, he was Scrooge McDuck, who threw himself headlong into danger and acted on instinct rather than reason when opportunity presented itself, and the holiness of his bairn merited it. The limo was the first thing presented in his field of vision as soon as he received the note, and had come up without telling Duckworth any explanation.

He skidded as soon as he visualized the entrance to the dump, holding his top hat as soon as it fell from his head, adjusting it again, holding the brim while he was in charge of turning off the vehicle.

Breathing harshly, he tried to get up from his seat, being pulled back into it, feeling his hat fall again when he realized he was still wearing the seat belt.

He grunted as he took it off with clumsy wrist movements, despair flowing even more through his veins as he sensed the silent place, surely expectant upon his arrival.

Finally removing the belt, he quickly descended from the limo, sighing heavily when a light cool breeze sailed through his feathers. He fervently took his cane, aware of needing it in his condition and properly secured the locks before closing his door, allowing the full moon to witness the glare that rooted his face.

He pushed with more force than necessary to open the huge gate of the dump, being immediately struck by the stench of garbage and burnt wood, adding the smell of oil, excessive gasoline and even alcoholic beverages. He grimaced at the mixture of substances, with the thought of a five-year-old boy barely tolerating these aromas that made him follow.

He was sure that the disorder generated by the Beagle family would eventually drive him crazy, but he preferred to give in to madness as soon as he found Donald in the junkyard.

Internally he prayed to any known God and for knowing that his nephew remained the same elusive imp he has taken care of.

The hand holding the cane was shaking uncontrollably, a huge lump in his throat disqualified him from the opportunity to even swallow, and he was alert to any broken glass or scrap that could be scattered on the floor.

Though it did not seem so, the old duck tried to remain stoic, concentrated, and especially ready for any confrontation he could face; the love he had taken for his little nephew, however, clouded his mind.

Out of the possibility that Hortense will find a way to give his money to charity upon learning of Donald's current whereabouts, he had really managed to establish a healthy relationship with him, where manners learned at home coupled with the boy's good behavior—problems and innocent jokes apart—had sat the harmony between them.

He could swear that it was such harmony that guided him through that maze of cars, with the laughter of children that surprised Scrooge, the simple idea of more children trapped making him nauseous.

Because if so, he would fight as much as he could to return each child with their families.

"Who invited McDuck?!" He looked up, and there was the matriarch of the criminal family interrupting his thoughts. Soon, and to the partial relief of that duck, the woman was surrounded by children of different complexions and sizes: her multiple sons.

Unfortunately none was the boy he wanted to see.

"Seriously, who was the fool who sent a ransom note? We were supposed to use the child to enter the mansion!"

Well, there was his.

"Ye have somethin' tha' belongs tae me," he growled, allowing the poison to drag his words and importing little if he scared one or more little children in the family, and banging the tip of the cane against the dirt in a strange tune, "and Ah willnae leave from here until Ah hav'it back."

Ma Beagle didn't even pity a desperate father figure, smiling maliciously as she stroked the head of one of her children with disdain.

"You should know the price, McDuck. You should know without the need to write it with crayons. After all, isn't your dear nephew's life the most valuable to you?" Dragging the last words, she did not flinch when Scrooge groaned again.

It was true. Donald had been the key piece for him to learn to care about someone other than himself, for that older brother who yearned for a stable life for his parents and younger sisters to be reborn.

He would not lie, through the years and seeing his nephew grow, he felt grateful for the trust Hortense had placed in him despite not having considered a role model.

Therefore, he knew that Donald was worth a lot more than all the money acquired since his first dime.

"Unca' Scrooge!" A sharp squawk broke the tense silence that had formed, only that enough for the Scotsman to feel his heartbeat again.

The hair feathers were visually disheveled, his always expressive and bright eyes were swollen and red, destroying the older one, a button on his onesie had disjointed and one of his slippers and his sleeping cap were missing. Surely the surprise, he supposed.

But outside the unfortunate state in which they had left the lad, he was physically untouched. And that installed a partially large relief on him.

"Donald!" Exclaimed Scrooge, jubilant to see the face of the youngest.

For the first time since the impact, the duckling's face radiated joy despite how much his eyes burned, a consequence of the time he was drying his tears.

However, before he even had the chance to walk to his uncle, Donald was surprised when a firm hand held his pajamas neck and soon his feet were off the ground.

"Isn't he a charm?" Ma Beagle asked mockingly, watching with amusement how the little duck writhed in her grip, trying to break free. "A bit difficult, though. You have to look at him all the time."

"Leave him alone!" No, his voice had definitely not trembled or heard more harsh, much less his accent had been marked intensely.

Because he definitely did not fear for his wee nephew, innocent in the quarrels and the multiple bitter enemies who liked to step on his heels.

"Why I should? With a pretty face like his, he would be an excellent member of the family" unfortunately, the education he received during his stays with Scrooge allowed him to possess a broader vocabulary than a child his age; Donald was terrified to discover how the bad woman perceived the way in which his uncle tried to hide his fear and used it against him.

"Don' worry, Unca' Scrooge, I hav'it unde' control!" He assured kicking and hitting the air between grunts while frowning, looking more tender than menacing, his small arms trying to reach Ma Beagle.

He knew that was against what he was taught about not hitting a woman and respecting elders, but he was sure he could break those rules if that involved protecting his family.

Ma Beagle rolled her eyes and holding Donald at arm length, she extended him to the most robust child.

"Watch the boy, I'll take care of McDuck," the duckling growled when three Beagle Boys held him, and Scrooge's eyes widened in realization.

Della's adventurous instinct had woken up at an early age, and he had supposed it would be the same with Donald.

_He just needed the right incentive._

Ma Beagle pounced on him and Scrooge raised his cane, barely separating Ma Beagle from him in an already usual fighting pose.

"Do you really think I would have compassion on you for your family?" The woman bellowed. Her children thought big, clearly not the same as her, but it was a real delight to see him so vulnerable.

Because if the sparkle in his eyes behind the withering gaze, his trembling beak and the feracity of his movements did not reveal vulnerability, she did not know what he was giving away.

Occasionally, Scrooge watched Donald. He struggled against the children, and his breathing became heavy.

"Ah knoo Ah've tried tae teach ye not to see violence as an answ'r, but richt noo it wouldnae other me," Scrooge thought, accidentally distracted for a moment.

Open window that Ma Beagle took advantage of to attack the old duck, pulling his heel with the curvature of an abandoned cane in the dump and throwing him to the ground.

Act witnessed by Donald.

Slowly he frowned growling under his breath. Slowly, he began to see red, taking young Beagle off guard.

He was fed up!

"Le've ma' unca' alone!" In an almost unintelligible voice, Donald gave a war cry, struggling even more between the three pairs of arms that kept him motionless.

Taking the criminal off guard and generating a smile at Scrooge, his nephew's outburst allowing him to tackle her. In the end, he hoped Donald would recognize that he acknowledged the lack of education of beating an older woman.

Meanwhile the duckling finally manages to get out of the grip of the children, the heights difference being the last important thing when he began to attack with his signature attack movement.

Feeling his body lighter when he stopped feeling the bigger hands try to hold him again.

The Beagle Boys fell surrendered, already expectant to their beloved Ma' complain.

"Unca' Scrooge!" Donald squealed with joy, feeling the lump in his throat strongly when he visualized the elder intact. Fortunately he wasn't in the family's house, which allowed him the joy of running, feeling his legs aching and exhausted.

"Donnie!" Scrooge felt a weight unraveling from his shoulders when he took his nephew into his arms, allowing him to cry to his shoulders. "M'boy, are ye awricht? Hoo did ye end up here?"

No, his voice had not broken either while rubbing his nephew's back, watching if his nephew not flank at a wound that could have resulted.

It would be the first thing he would check upon they arrival at the manor.

"A don' 'now," he sobbed drowningly, hiding his face on his uncle's shoulder, curling up between both arms when he felt him start walking, "I co'ldn't sleep, I was go'ng with 'u to keep 'u company. I was sud'enly here…"

He sweetly coo Donald. Suddenly he thought about the possibility of black magic. That is to say, said magic always had evil ends, easily one of the artifacts that he had had to be cursed, and the bad luck that invaded the duckling always put it in unfavorable situations.

Another detail that would verify upon arrival.

For now, he just had to reassure his nephew, preen him, bathe him and stay by his side until Hortense and Quackmore arrive from the restaurant.

For now, he was mentally ready for the odyssey that would calm his scared duckling while calling the police.

**Author's Note:**

> "The greatest adventures are the ones you face as a father figure :D"  
Me justifying having never written this genre, struggling between college life.


End file.
